on the Riviera on Sunday.
Rosetta scarcely opened her mouth. Again I was amazed at Nene, sculptress or painter or whatever, thick-lipped and banged, and her shameless way of laughing like a baby. And yet she was thirty at least, only a little younger than I. She was also naive and impulsive, and when Rosetta asked how Loris was and why he didn't come too, she got confused and dropped her voice as if caught in the act. Strange girl—she seemed like a lizard. Probably she really was clever, and anyhow artists are what they are.
But I was sleepy. We had spent the evening at the baron's house having dinner and waiting for the girls so we could leave. I drowsed off. We met a strong wind in the Apennines and the rain caught us on the road deep in the woods. Then, as the day slowly brightened, the rain thinned out, until we were running along the sea in warm air with the windows open, under the last showers. Here the gardens were green and already in flower. I asked Rosetta if she were going to the sea that year. She said no, she was going back to Montalto.
Our destination was a villa above Noli, but someone said: "Let's go to San Remo."
"As for me," the baron said, "I'd like a little nap."
While they talked, we got out in the square at Noli. Momina came up. At that hour, in the early light, the square was deserted, the cafes closed.
"We're early birds once again," Momina said to me.
Rosetta, her bag hanging from her shoulder, had her back to the sea as she leaned on the railing, smoking.
"I've never seen the sea at this hour," Nene said.
"You never do unless you stay up all night," Momina said, "but it's not worth the trouble. This breeze with the smell of flowers is better than the sea."
We set out again. The baron had won. We took the mountain road and, speeding between stone walls and around risky curves, we reached the villa, which was like a huge greenhouse among the magnolias.
21
As we walked in the garden, Rosetta told us that last year she had wanted to become a nun. We had gone off, she, Momina, and I, into a little stand of trees, up to a balustrade from which you looked out at the sea.
"But they don't want girls like me," she said.
"Why not? If you have the money?" Momina said.
Rosetta began to laugh softly and said that the nuns had to be virgins.
Momina said: "It's a marriage like any other. All one asks of a bride is that she be dressed in white."
"It's beautiful up here," Rosetta said. "But tomorrow it won't be so nice. To keep some respect for the world and people, one should do without everything. A convent solves the problem."
"And what would you have done, all alone like that? Painted Madonnas?" Momina asked. "I wouldn't know how to get through the days."
Rosetta shrugged off Momina's allusion. I was hardly aware of it myself. But Mariella and the others were already approaching under the magnolias, and Momina murmured: "One day at a time is enough. Let's get through this one..."
The weather was really promising, if only there hadn't been the women, sisters and friends of the baron, and their escorts, who insisted on making a fuss and wore out the tormented old caretakers opening the house, carrying stuff, putting the verandah in order. Momina took things in hand by suggesting that they assign us women a bedroom and let us rest for an hour.
The villa was a splendor, full of heavy furniture and armchairs, but all sheeted, even the lamps. The wooden shelves were still covered in waxed paper. "It's like a medieval castle," Momina said, walking along a corridor. When the coming and going to the bathroom stopped, I sat in a wicker chair and Mariella combed her hair at a mirror, Momina took off her shoes and collapsed on the bed, Nene and Rosetta gossiped at the open window. It reminded me of those American movies about girls who lived together in one room with an older girl, quite experienced, who plays wet nurse to the others. And I thought how phony it all was: the actress who
Rosetta scarcely opened her mouth. Again I was amazed at Nene, sculptress or painter or whatever, thick-lipped and banged, and her shameless way of laughing like a baby. And yet she was thirty at least, only a little younger than I. She was also naive and impulsive, and when Rosetta asked how Loris was and why he didn't come too, she got confused and dropped her voice as if caught in the act. Strange girl—she seemed like a lizard. Probably she really was clever, and anyhow artists are what they are.
But I was sleepy. We had spent the evening at the baron's house having dinner and waiting for the girls so we could leave. I drowsed off. We met a strong wind in the Apennines and the rain caught us on the road deep in the woods. Then, as the day slowly brightened, the rain thinned out, until we were running along the sea in warm air with the windows open, under the last showers. Here the gardens were green and already in flower. I asked Rosetta if she were going to the sea that year. She said no, she was going back to Montalto.
Our destination was a villa above Noli, but someone said: "Let's go to San Remo."
"As for me," the baron said, "I'd like a little nap."
While they talked, we got out in the square at Noli. Momina came up. At that hour, in the early light, the square was deserted, the cafes closed.
"We're early birds once again," Momina said to me.
Rosetta, her bag hanging from her shoulder, had her back to the sea as she leaned on the railing, smoking.
"I've never seen the sea at this hour," Nene said.
"You never do unless you stay up all night," Momina said, "but it's not worth the trouble. This breeze with the smell of flowers is better than the sea."
We set out again. The baron had won. We took the mountain road and, speeding between stone walls and around risky curves, we reached the villa, which was like a huge greenhouse among the magnolias.
21
As we walked in the garden, Rosetta told us that last year she had wanted to become a nun. We had gone off, she, Momina, and I, into a little stand of trees, up to a balustrade from which you looked out at the sea.
"But they don't want girls like me," she said.
"Why not? If you have the money?" Momina said.
Rosetta began to laugh softly and said that the nuns had to be virgins.
Momina said: "It's a marriage like any other. All one asks of a bride is that she be dressed in white."
"It's beautiful up here," Rosetta said. "But tomorrow it won't be so nice. To keep some respect for the world and people, one should do without everything. A convent solves the problem."
"And what would you have done, all alone like that? Painted Madonnas?" Momina asked. "I wouldn't know how to get through the days."
Rosetta shrugged off Momina's allusion. I was hardly aware of it myself. But Mariella and the others were already approaching under the magnolias, and Momina murmured: "One day at a time is enough. Let's get through this one..."
The weather was really promising, if only there hadn't been the women, sisters and friends of the baron, and their escorts, who insisted on making a fuss and wore out the tormented old caretakers opening the house, carrying stuff, putting the verandah in order. Momina took things in hand by suggesting that they assign us women a bedroom and let us rest for an hour.
The villa was a splendor, full of heavy furniture and armchairs, but all sheeted, even the lamps. The wooden shelves were still covered in waxed paper. "It's like a medieval castle," Momina said, walking along a corridor. When the coming and going to the bathroom stopped, I sat in a wicker chair and Mariella combed her hair at a mirror, Momina took off her shoes and collapsed on the bed, Nene and Rosetta gossiped at the open window. It reminded me of those American movies about girls who lived together in one room with an older girl, quite experienced, who plays wet nurse to the others. And I thought how phony it all was: the actress who
Similar Books
